


A Blaze of Blasé

by Findswoman



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Ewoks, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Ewoks, F/M, Force Visions, Humor, Magic, Poetry, Potions, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2019-01-27 09:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12578388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findswoman/pseuds/Findswoman
Summary: The blasé tree goats around Bright Tree Village have fallen ill, and Logray and Teebo concoct a tonic to heal them—or at least they try to. Latara is mentioned obliquely only, but her relationship with Teebo lurks behind this story. A birthday fic-gift from 2016 for my good pal Ewok_Poet, with much heartfelt baaaah and all best wishes. Many thanks to Admiral Volshe for beta-reading on short notice.





	A Blaze of Blasé

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ewok_Poet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewok_Poet/gifts).



There was a definite spring in Logray’s step that morning as he pottered about his hut, collecting motley assortment of phials, bundles, and herbs from shelves and cupboards in his hut. Those passing by would even have heard him humming a happy tune as he retrieved his ingredients and organized them on a cloth on his low wooden kitchen table, to be wrapped into a satchel. It was not every day that the dignified and venerable shaman of Bright Tree Village was quite this animated, but today he had very good reason to be.  
  
For that tireless trader Mooth—may the Light Spirit shine blessings upon him always!—had finally come through with his shipment of Maknaa-Miin-Tii.  
  
This precious mineral, found only in hidden quarries near the tropical village of Sunken Lake, was rich in medicinal qualities. It took its name from the Gondula shaman who had first discovered it centuries before, Maknaa of Sunken Lake, and ever since her time the quarries that yielded it had been guarded fiercely by the shamans of that same village. That Mooth had been able to procure such a goodly quantity of Maknaa-Miin-Tii was a scintillating tribute to his skills of salesmanship and negotiation—and, of course, to the efficacy of the unlocking-spell stones that Logray had made sure to send along with the long-snouted trader.  
  
And it was the last ingredient Logray needed for the blasé tree goat tonic at which he had been laboring frantically for the last few months. It had been just after the last snow, at the beginning of the growing season, that a strange malady had struck all the tree goats around Bright Tree Village. They had been simply lying around doing nothing—which in itself was nothing unusual for them, except that they were also no longer giving milk, and their usually soft, smooth coats had become matted and greasy. Several had died in the last month alone; Roik, the old herdsman out on the banks of the Yarlubb, had already lost close to half his flock. Only after countless sleepless nights of leafing through ancient tomes and conferring with neighboring shamans via image spinner was Logray finally able to devise a recipe for a suitable tonic—and it had taken Mooth several weeks more to recover that one crucial ingredient.  
  
Once all the other ingredients were organized on the table, Logray took the tightly wrapped package of Maknaa-Miin-Tii down from his topmost cupboard and placed it carefully at one edge of the satchel-cloth next to a few bundles of dried herbs. It must not be placed next to certain ingredients, for it was extremely volatile and could react violently with them if not mixed properly and in the right proportions. But Logray was not too worried: handling ingredients carefully was simply part of being a good shaman. He hoped to instill the same values in that apprentice of his, young Teebo, who (thank the Light Spirit) was already a levelheaded young fellow by nature.  
  
Still humming gaily, Logray wrapped up his satchel of ingredients, slung it over his shoulder, and began his hike out to the banks of the Yarlubb, where his young apprentice was due to meet him at high noon.  
  
* * *  
  
Tana blazed high in the vault of the sky as Logray arrived at riverside, just a short walk from the herdsman’s cottage. He set down his bundle and looked around.  
  
There were blasé tree goats all around, looking even more blasé than usual. They hung listlessly from their branches, bleating and squirming weakly as though in pain, and a sickly grayish hue tinged their eyes and muzzles. Young Teebo was already there, shouldering a bundle of his own; he was standing beside the head of one of the hapless goats, stroking it between the ears while whispering comforting words. As he saw his teacher approach, he stood at attention and inclined his head respectfully.  
  
“ _Goopa,_ Master Logray.”  
  
“ _Goopa,_ young Teebo!” Logray nodded to his student in response. “I see you’ve brought the brazier and the large cookpot as I asked you to?”  
  
“Chak, Master Logray. And Mother lent me some of her extra wooden spoons just in case.”  
  
“Excellent! Then let us get right to work.”  
  
Each began unpacking his bundle. Teebo set out the carved stone brazier and the cookpot, then laid the wooden spoons beside them. Logray set out his ingredients one by one in careful order, removing the parcel of Maknaa-Miin-Tii last and setting off by itself, far from the other parcels, phials, and herbs.  
  
“Now listen carefully, young one,” began Logray. “It is not every day that an apprentice such as yourself has the opportunity to make livestock tonic with Maknaa-Miin-Tii. If we succeed, we shall be rendering a tremendous service not only to Herdsman Roik but also to all of Bright Tree Village.”  
  
“I certainly hope we can, Master Logray! The poor things!” Teebo stroked the head of the goat near him, who let out a wistful _me-e-e-eh._  
  
“But we must proceed with great care,” continued the shaman. “There are fewer minerals rarer or more volatile than Maknaa-Miin-Tii. I know you well for a perspicacious young lad, and I have the utmost confidence that you will listen carefully to my instructions and follow them precisely.”  
  
“Chak, absolutely, Master Logray.”  
  
“Good. Let us begin. I shall light the brazier, and you measure out two pawfuls of nerooloo powder into the pot.”  
  
Teebo obeyed, filling his hands with a bright yellow powder from one the parcels and emptied them into the pot. Once orange flames began to dance in the brazier, Logray placed the pot atop it, added a few sprigs of dried herbs, and shook in some inky blue liquid from one of his phials. Teebo took the longest of the spoons and began to stir the mixture, which soon released a pungent, herbal odor; that was Logray’s cue to extend his hands over the pot and began to chant mystical words half under his breath. Teebo continued to stir, and Logray continued to sprinkle in ingredients from his packets and phials at precisely spaced intervals. All the while he kept up his low, arcane chant, with Teebo’s youthful alto occasionally joining in on the prescribed responses.  
  
At last Logray, still chanting, unwrapped the precious parcel of Maknaa-Miin-Tii. The crumbly, almost pearly white-green mineral powder glinted as he raised the unwrapped parcel above his head, his voice swelling with mystical anticipation. Finally, in one swift motion, he hurled the lump of minerals into the bubbling mixture below. A sparkling burst of silver-green mist flared up from the cookpot, engulfing the two Ewoks and filling the air around them with a sweet, heady perfume. After a moment or two it began dissipate, and once the air was clear again, Logray spoke.  
  
“Now you, young Teebo, keep stirring this while it simmers. And do not stop stirring until I say so.”  
  
“Chak, Master Logray.” Teebo obeyed. The mixture was close to liquid now, and its scent still wafted tantalizingly upward. Logray waved one hand over the pot and began another chant. Minutes passed, and more minutes passed, and more, and still Teebo kept stirring and Logray kept chanting. After several minutes the old shaman stopped and peered into the pot.  
  
“Time to add the shabuya butter, I think,” he murmured, picking up one of his parcels and examining it. “Oh, _k’vark!_ ”  
  
This sudden and uncharacteristic exclamation startled Teebo, who almost dropped his spoon. “No, no, don’t stop stirring!” his teacher barked, almost harshly.  
  
“Is everything all right, Master Logray?”  
  
“Silly old fool that I am, I packed the kabuya butter instead of the shabuya butter,” answered the shaman. “It seems I shall have to head back to my hut for a moment. Now you, young one, keep stirring, and don’t stop for anything!”  
  
“Chak, Master Logray.” And as the hunched shaman lumbered back to the village, muttering under his breath, Teebo kept stirring, and stirring, and stirring. As he stirred, he gazed at the sickly tree goats, then at the clear, purling Yarlubb as it coursed by, then upward to feel the warmth of Tana on his face. And kept stirring.  
  
Then he heard it. A distant musical sound—the sound of a flute.  
  
And was pretty sure he knew whose flute, for he knew from the position of Tana that the hoodmaker’s shop back in the village had closed for the afternoon.  
  
It was a time of day he knew well . . . a time of sweet nothings in the grove of white flowers just above the cliff, a time when all the trees and shrubs and the sky itself took on the iridescent pink-blue aura of love and beauty . . . when Tana itself dimmed before the light of two gemlike black eyes . . .  
  
He thought he could see that same pink-blue aura now, enfolding him, the cookpot, the parcels and phials, the languid tree goats, the trees themselves. With each wistful, distant flute tone it glowed brighter. The scent of the white flowers of the grove flowed through it, commingling with the aroma of the tonic.  
  
And words, verses were flowing through it—verses he had written himself, for _her,_ the distant girl with the flute:  
  
_Lady of the bright braids,_  
_Awake, arise, and bloom!_  
_Tremble, moons and stars,_  
_As the two black suns shine forth!_  
_Ring out, valleys and groves,_  
_At the song of her perfume—_  
  
“TEEBO! WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE NIGHT SPIRIT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE YOU DOING?! DON’T YOU SEE WHAT’S HAPPENING?!”  
  
“Master Logray? Wha—” Teebo opened his eyes to find himself sprawled on the ground, the wooden spoon beside him. His teacher stood over him, gesticulating frantically toward a grayish-green cloud that was rising from the simmering tonic—and growing by the moment.  
  
“UP! QUICK! YOUR SPOON!”  
  
Teebo sprang to his feet, grabbed his spoon, and began stirring frantically. But the cloud only grew and grew, and as it did the tonic mixture bubbled more and more fiercely. Logray took another spoon and followed suit, jabbering hasty incantations, but it was no use. The entire surrounding area was now engulfed in the fragrant, gray-green miasma rising from the pot, whose contents were now shining with a silver glow.  
  
“Master Logray! I can’t—”  
  
“KEEP TRYING, BOY! KEEP STIRRING!”  
  
“But I can’t even see my own—”  
  
“TOO LATE! IT’S GOING TO BLOW!”  
  
Just then the silver glow flared upward out of the pot, igniting the greenish cloud in a tremendous, dazzling explosion of silver-green light. Screams and bleats filled the air as Logray, Teebo, and several of the tree goats were lifted into the turbid air . . .  
  
The universe went white—then silver-green—then white—then both . . .  
  
* * *  
  
“ _Be-e-e-eh._ ”  
  
“’Mwhat?” Teebo blinked and sat up. One of the tree-goats, a female, was standing beside him, nuzzling her head against his.  
  
“ _Be-e-e-e-e-e-eh._ ”  
  
“What did you say? What—” He gazed at his woolly interlocutor and almost jumped out of his fur at what he saw. The goat’s coat was now a healthy, soft, shiny white, and its yellow-green eyes were bright again, with no sickly gray cast surrounding them.  
  
“Now what if . . . just what if . . .”  
  
Carefully he cupped one hand below the goat’s udder, then squeezed it gently with the other. A stream of warm white milk spurted out onto his palm. He held it to his mouth and licked it up. It was as rich and creamy as good tree goat milk should be.  
  
“By the Light Spirit . . . you’re . . . you’re all better!”  
  
Teebo got up and looked around. He saw the brazier, now extinguished, and the cookpot, and the half used packages of ingredients. He saw the wrappings that had once held the precious Maknaa-Miin-Tii, of which nothing now remained except a few whitish crumbs. A little ways off he saw Logray sitting up and repositioning his churi-bird skull headdress on his head, muttering something about being “too old for this.”  
  
But what mainly struck his eyes were the tree goats. All of them, Roik’s entire herd—not just the one who stood beside him—were now as healthy and energetic-looking as ever. Some munched happily on leaves as they hung from their branches; others gamboled and played among the foliage, _baah_ ing happily. Their coats, white and gray and golden and everything in between, shone in the light of Tana.  
  
“Master Logray!” Teebo ran over to his teacher and helped him to his feet. “Look! The tree goats! They’re better!”  
  
“Oh? That’s nice to hear,” Logray grumbled, avoiding his apprentice’s gaze as he smoothed out his robes. “Next time I’m going to make them plain old grimp-root syrup. May the Night Spirit take me if I use that accursed Maknaa-Miin-Tii rubbish for anything ever again.”  
  
“But Master Logray, they _really are better!_ They’re not sick anymore! Their fur looks . . . nice again, like it should! And they’re giving milk!”  
  
The shaman glanced around, noticing for the first time the happy, healthy quadrupeds disporting themselves in the treetops. He too tested and tasted the milk of another nearby female.  
  
“Well, well! So they are, by the Great Tree! Not so bad, for forgetting to stir the pot.” He wagged a finger at his apprentice, his dark eyes gleaming almost mischievously. “Now, what exactly was it that happened to you there, young one? I have seen the spirits of nature overcome you before, but I’ve never seen them do anything quite like _that_.”  
  
“Oh, uh . . .” Teebo fidgeted with his hands. The pink-blue aura seemed again to be before his eyes, the far-off song of the flute in his ears, the scent of the white flowers in his nostrils. How could he possibly explain to his crotchety old Master the way sight and sound and smell had melded into a single overwhelming and indescribable sensation—the sensation of that lovely grove above the cliff, of the white flowers and the black eyes?  
  
“That Maknaa-Miin-Tii is strong stuff, Master Logray,” he said at last. It wasn’t completely a lie. Who knew what role the potent white-green powder may have played in what he had seen and felt? Such powerful minerals and herbs were known to have intense effects on spirit-sensitive minds—and not all of those effects were yet known.  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” remarked the shaman as he began to repack his satchel. “Now pack up your gear and let’s head back to the village. That old pot of yours”—he gestured to the cookpot, whose inside was now thoroughly coated with cooked-on gray-green sediment—“is going to need a good scouring.”  
  
“Chak, Master Logray.”  
  
Teebo collected the brazier, pot, and spoons and wrapped them back up as best he could. As he walked with his teacher back to the village, he turned to give the tree goats one last friendly nod, and he was certain he received at least a few cheerful _me-e-e-eh_ s in response. After several minutes, the familiar huts and walkways of Bright Tree Village loomed before them, and Teebo thought he could once again hear the sound of the beloved flute far off through the rustle of the leaves . . .  
  
Perhaps the cookpot could wait. ¶

**Author's Note:**

> Maknaa-Miin-Tii is fanon and is named for a mint- and mineral-based face mask called Mask of Magnaminty and made by Lush. EP once told me she hoped to get the word “Magnaminty” into a fic sometime, and, well, I thought I would try rising to the challenge. All names other names of ingredients are my creation as well.
> 
> Teebo is, of course, the original Ewok Poet, and of course I couldn’t resist trying my hand at a bit of actual poetry for him—though I’m pretty sure it’s nowhere near as cool as what EP herself has come up with for him.
> 
> The girl with the flute is, of course, Latara. The grove near the cliff with the white flowers is a location that figures in the last chapter of EP’s Snowed In (which can be read here on AO3), and it is one of Teebo and Latara’s favorite wooing spots.
> 
> Sunken Lake is my own fanon location on the Forest Moon of Endor. Tana is the Ewoks’ name for the gas giant Endor, the planet the Forest Moon orbits. Roik is an OC.
> 
> Blasé tree goats: http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Tree_goat  
> Churi bird: http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Churi/Legends  
> Gondula Ewoks: http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Gondula  
> Mooth: http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Mooth  
> Yarlubb River: http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Yarlubb_river


End file.
